Untitled
by Reigning Rats
Summary: For eight years, Tim has been missing, but Conner's on the hunt to reclaim what has been lost.
1. Chapter 1

The day Tim left, he'd been furious. For years, they stuck by one another. Back to back, hand in hand, they were a team: the best team. Then Tim left and Kon was pissed. He could understand a few month's reprieve, but to up and turn in his suit? Tim must have been mad, that's what Kon figured, and that's why he flipped out the day Tim left. The cold stoicism that came with the announcement made his stomach clench because he knew Tim. He _knew_ Tim. Tim wouldn't do that.

Except he had.

He could hardly recall his friend's face now, after so many years. Tim had dropped off all radars, no doubt having forged a new identity for himself. Even, years ago, when Kon approached Bruce, and what a hellish experience that had proven to be, neither could turn up anything. Tim disappeared, ceased to exist, and slowly the immediate rage Kon had felt drained away, leaving him feeling hollowed out and broken.

Cassie couldn't take his melancholy. She'd left years ago to protect L.A. from a whole new breed of Super Villians. He couldn't really be assed to care then and isolated himself in Smallville, flying out to take down this baddie and that as needed. He stayed to himself, withdrawn from the world, and he didn't know _why_. The frustration and loneliness nearly drove him insane till seven months ago he threw on his coat and walked out of Ma and Pa's door.

Kon disappeared too, then, hoping to reclaim the friend he had lost eight years ago, aided only by the white washed, muddied mental image of Tim's face which he clung to desperately.

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><p><strong>AN:** **Character use has been fixed! Sorry that took so long, I hadn't noticed till recently and then someone brought it to my attention. My bad.** **And P.S., after re-reading through this part, I &$%*ing hate it.**


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2:

Romanticism has never been Kon's thing. Even with Cassie, aside from those incredibly awesome days where things went as planned, and Tim wasn't any different. He'd tried to hear for Tim's voice, have Superman give a listen, but Bruce concluded Tim had calculated that and devised a way around it. Aside from his super hearing, there really wasn't much else he could use to find Tim. Sure, he could fly, after all; it was his favorite mode of transportation since he'd popped out of that tube thing. He needed to sneak though, to follow the trail as silently as possible less Tim get wind of the approaching moment of confrontation.

Just thinking about the reunion made his hands clench, jaw tighten, and mouth go dry. The woman next to him almost looks scared, since he is getting a bit rough with the armrest, so he backs off by thinking of the lazy days with Ma and Pa. He'd used the trick before, and it worked every time. He smiles sheepishly just for good measure and the woman seems to relax: somewhat. Kon really couldn't give a shit about her. All thoughts, regardless of origin whether it be the greasy slob on his left or the skittish young woman to his right, came round again to Tim. Timtimtimtim fucking Tim.

Raw rage bubbled up in his belly, and Kon closed his eyes to save the torrent for the upcoming face to face chat. Tim needed a verbal reaming, just about as badly as Kon needed to find his friend. Like a marionette dancing bonelessly to the conductor's whims, Kon laid back and attempted to relax, thinking about the look on Tim's face when they met again.

Kon almost wanted to cry when he couldn't envision Tim. It'd been three weeks since he'd been able to.

Somewhere along the line, he'd thought this meeting would go different. He wouldn't have wasted months tracking down a phantom, just listened for Tim and followed the sound to officially kick his ass, though lightly. Everything would have been easy: simple; not this convoluted cluster fuck Kon had begun. Except he was done now. Completely finished because there was Tim, standing ten feet away and bartering with a traveling merchant for some sort of fruit, and Kon could _see_ him.

The years reversed and Kon could almost feel the harsh sweep of gritty jeans against his legs and the tickle of worn cotton across his chest. Tim hadn't changed, not even his hair, and Goddamn it, he couldn't focus. Kon's hand shot out to keep himself steady. Head swimming, vision blurring, Kon's grip tightened till he crushed the branch he'd been holding.

Startled, Tim whipped his head around and stared at Kon.

He couldn't breathe anymore and sunk to his knees, wide eyed and curious when a tiny head poked it's way around Tim's leg.

The vendor skulked off, no doubt afraid. Kon had to trek to central Africa to find Tim, since he'd apparently taken up the identity of David Banks, a divorced, mute Doctors Without Borders volunteer with a Ph.D. in medicine and mechanical engineering. Somehow, where Batman failed, Kon had succeeded, though he didn't delude himself. It had been pure, unadulterated luck brought about by a big mouth and cynic Bedouins.

Except he didn't_ care_ about how he'd gotten there, just that he could feel the clay beneath his fingers and the stifling African heat. There's the sky, blue as ever, and brush, the color of gold and shimmering in the breeze. Rocks and dirt roads and potholes and poverty. Throngs of mistrusting villagers and mobs of over zealous shop keepers. He'd hacked away at rain forest brush, only just for a short while when the RV broke down a few weeks prior, and flailed absurdly for information and directions when less and less English speakers became readily available.

Except. Except.

He can't _think_.

The little thing clinging to Tim's hand steps back and narrows his eyes. One moment, the kid is looking at Kon with mounting irritation, then it's in the air and looking murderous. It stares and Kon can at least manage to tear his eyes away to get a good look at the kid, if only for a moment because there's _Tim._

But this kid could be Tim, too. _Easily_. His eyes are blue and skin no doubt tanned from months, maybe even years, in Sudan. He's got Tim's hair, that uniquely midnight brown that shimmers black, and the crinkle between the brows Tim got when he was confused. The kid is too bulky, though, more Kon's build -

And.

Kon went back to staring at Tim, pleading for his assumption to be shot down. The despair and humiliation clouding Tim's face says it all.

"Jonathon," Tim barks brokenly, weakly, because he hasn't tried to use his voice in years.

And Kon's throat goes dry because he likes that name. It's a good name, a really good name. Strong. Unassociated with bitter memories.

Kon tries it out, just because he can't function any more and it slips out, "Jon-El," and he_ likes_ how it sounds, how easily he can say his son's name. When Tim nods, Kon wants to cry, because it's fucking_ true_ and Tim hadn't forgotten. Had thought of him.

But he can't go to Tim, not now. H' d planned on getting a little upset, scream some and angrily wave his arms, but then he would calm down and grab Tim and fucking squeeze till the little bastard either popped or wriggled away. He could feel no anger, no resentment or even annoyance, anymore, just a wide emptiness. He didn't want to touch Tim now. Didn't want to even be near him because Tim lied and ran away with Kon's _clone child son_.

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><p><strong>AN: Character use is fixed. After re-reading through this, I think I was dumb while writing this.**


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3:

He still feels numb, but that must be normal. At least, he certainly hopes so. Jon stares at him and he stares back and there's _no question_ that the kid is part his. He's got those Kryptonian blue eyes, the ones that shine like liquid mercury and glitter like gems. He's also got Kon's pension for bearing his soul. Unabashedly, the kid is glaring at him, sitting on the side farthest from Kon and clutching Tim's hand like a life line. All Kon can really do is clutch his coffee cup. He feels useless.

_How?_ It's all Kon needs to say and he knows it. Turning his gaze to the worn and ragged wood of Tim's kitchen table, he can only wait.

Tim looks at him and it's been too long. He can see it out of the corner of his eyes and memories seep back, crystal clear and now tainted. He's lost the ability to read Tim. The little nuances he could once pick up on were now hidden once more and Kon can no longer see into the veil of Tim's compartmentalized mind. It hurts more than it should and he curls into himself a little more.

The stagnant air moves when Tim turns and starts moving his hands. He can only guess that Tim is going to keep up the whole mute thing. Even if it is just him, Kon, and Kon's son out in the middle of Congo, surrounded by lush greenery yet untouched and weary villagers casting dark looks their way. There's some grudging respect for Tim, he can see it in their eyes, but they keep their distance from Kon.

"I don't kno -"

Jon shoots out from behind Tim again and snaps, "I'll do it then!"

He's got Kon's temper and it makes his stomach clench painfully.

Watching Tim, Jon's eyes narrow in concentration and Tim turns his attention fully towards his son. They silently spoke to one another, Jon's hand movements becoming choppier the longer they conversed. Letting out a frustrated growl, Jon threw his hands up and hopped off his chair. He stood before Kon, hands on hips and hatred burning bright in his eyes.

"Daddy would like you to leave. Well, _I_ want you to leave because you're upsetting Daddy and that is _not okay_."

An angry finger jabs into Kon's side and he can feel it, a painful press to his gut, and the kid _must_ have Kon's super strength. It's a bittersweet swelling of pride, though.

"We've been just fine on our own and you can leave now. No one _wants_ you here," Jon starts, jabbing harder, "so get lost and never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever come back, Mister."

Tim's hand claps down on Jon's shoulder and yanks him back. Tim looks more like a doll than anything else. Somehow, he's evaded the sun, no doubt with the help of copious amounts of sunscreen. When he looks at Kon, it's a blank stare and he knows Tim is thinking something but he can't figure out _what_. The realization both irks him and makes him sick. This whole thing makes him sick.

Tim signs more to Jon before the kid deflates and turns back to Kon, "Sorry. I just don't like seeing Daddy upset. He was really upset when mother left and after the accident. I don't _want_ him to be sad anymore."

Kon nods dumbly, because he doesn't understand and this whole thing is too surreal for him to begin processing it yet.

_Mother._

Kon slams his hand down on the table top and cracks the wood straight down the middle. He's startled Jon, but not Tim. The kid jumps back and huddles behind Tim before remembering himself and coming from behind his protective cover to instead defend Tim from any harm. Tim doesn't exactly stop the kid when he gets into a fighting position and Kon's _son_ should _never_ treat him as a threat. He can feel his sanity slipping and heart bleeding.

He's already made a scene, so why not put on a show? If he had to categorize this production, he'd tuck it in the comedy section. Because, what else can this all be but some _sick_ joke?

Straightening his back and turning towards those he has yet to properly meet, Kon knotted his brows and scowled, "You don t have a mother."

Jon's eyes widen and he isn't sure if Tim has ever told him. When Tim's eyes widen, he guesses no. _Too fucking bad._

"Your daddy is the weird ass, brainy bat and tried to bring me back by _cloning_ me using his DNA and _mine_. _Without_ permission," and he's already on a roll, so why not go all out? Shooting to his feet, he towered over both Jon and Tim. While Jon seemed livid, Tim just stared up with dead eyes. "And then he _stole_ you away and ran so no one could find him. You're Goddamn well and _mine_."

Jon just stares at him, too, hands clenched at his side and jaw tight. The kid's got Tim's more delicate facial features but Kon's chin and eyes. He's mesmerized and can't look away.

"I _know_," Jon spits out nastily. "Daddy told me all that. I just figured you're too much of an _ass_ to be my other daddy."

Tim's gaze goes to Jon and, when Jon looks back sheepishly, he begins to sign what Kon can only guess is a reprimand for his language. He's sick of the sign language. Kon's _found_ him. If he wanted, he could call up Batman and have Tim carted back to Gotham. He hasn't yet, but Tim _still refuses to speak_ and he's _sick_ of it.

"Fuck you!"

Now Tim's attention is on him and he wants to deflate, but that would be too easy so instead he puffs out like an irate cockatoo and points an accusing finger Tim's way, "I am fucking _sick_ of this. Just _talk_ to me, Tim. We used to be able to talk about _anything_ and you re just. Just. Just sitting there and it's pissing me _right the fuck off_."

He's breathing hard by the end of it and Jon seems too shocked to fire off his own tirade about yelling at his Daddy. Kon likes it that way, because the kid is too much like him for _anything_ to be okay.

Tim just stares. Blank and dead as ever. Then, something shifts and Kon can see it. His heart leaps then finds a home on the floor when he detects the overwhelming tide of melancholy and shame dripping from Tim. He can tell Tim is forcing himself to move his hand up to the collar of his shirt. The limb trembles, if only a bit, as he pulls back the worn and dirty cotton to reveal the ragged edges of a wound freshly healed just below the hollow of his collar bones. The wound must have been messy, deep. Kon can tell.

Jon chooses then to speak up, leaning heavily on Tim's lap and willing Kon to just up and die with a nasty look. His tone is cold, brutally hard, and Kon has a hard time remembering that this is his son.

"He can't fucking _talk_, you _ass_."

Then Kon gets it and he feels stupid, ashamed, and he sinks back into his chair and curls in on himself and wishes he could just be sucked into some alternate universe where things weren't so fucked up.

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><p><strong>AN: Character use has been fixed. After re-reading through this, I actually rather like it. De-de-derp.**


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4:

The morning comes too early for Kon's liking and he's got a pounding headache when he can finally be assed out of bed. The night still made him uneasy. He'd heard Tim's soft sobbing through the bricks of the hut walls but he'd done nothing. Just stared up at the netting and tried to sleep while not feeling like a horrible person. No one's in the house as he wanders around and he can only feel utterly alone, like a stranger in a stranger yet land. Which, in all reality, was true and he knew it.

Shielding his eyes as he ventured outside in search of Tim and Jon. The two are no where to be seen, just a crowd of villagers giving the entire house a wide berth while eying Kon cautiously. They know he doesn't belong. He's clean and they're not. There's a weariness when he looks in their eyes, and he wants to _help_ these people. He knows he can't. It's not why he came here and they're beyond his reach.

Kon has nothing to do but stand there awkwardly, staring at the clay and sand beneath his bare feet, and wait for his companions to return. He could just leave. Turn tail and fly back home, but that's a cowardly plan and Kon has_ never_ been accused of being a coward. It's hard, though. It's heating up fast and getting muggier. He can hardly stand it, but he stays still and bears it, even when sweat begins to collect on his brow.

"Hey"

His head snaps up when he hears Jon call. For a moment, he almost smiles when he sees Tim and Jon coming back into the village, buckets of water balanced on their heads. He thinks it's a cool trick.

Then Kon deflates. Because this is not the Tim he knew. The Tim he knew wouldn't carry water pails on his head. This is a new breed of Tim, one that makes Kon's stomach roil and his throat dry up. Petty dreams of normalcy abandon him immediately when Tim and Jon go around the back of their hut. He follows, if only to escape the mistrusting gaze of the other villagers.

Tim sets his pail beside an old porcelain tub in the back. Quickly, he signs something to Jon and, _Jesus_, Kon makes a pact to learn sign language because having the kid translate is getting nearly obnoxious. After all, he has no idea if Jon is lying or not. After all, Jon is his son only legally, technically, Kon isn't sure. He doesn't know Jon's favorite food or what his first words were, if he even had any. He doesn't even know how old Jon is or his birthday or his favorite song. Kon can feel bile rising as he thinks about it.

Jon's nearly ignoring him, "Daddy says you can take a bath if you want. We got extra water. The well dried up a few months ago." Though Jon's going around, setting up to boil out the impurities, he does glance back at Kon.

Without thinking, Kon makes a dismissive, noncommittal grunt. His eyes meet Jon's and he can see the shift. The last remnants of child like hope bleed from the boy's eyes and fill with irritation and anger as he turns back to his work. Kon_ knows_ he's fucked up then and he feels like a failure.

"I, uh, think I'll pass on the shower. For today, I mean," Kon manages to mumble.

Tim nods his understanding but refuses to meet Kon's eyes. Kon has never been more grateful. He still can't look at Tim. Sure, they're dancing around one another, but with Jon there, things are just complicated enough that neither cares.

Jon shrugs and goes back to his own work, "Whatever._ I_ don t care if you smell like nasty feet."

There's a snotty lilt to Jon's words that unsettles Kon.

Squaring his resolve, he attempts to step into the fatherly role, "Hey, I smell just fine. Don't you talk to me like that."

Except Jon snorts and rolls his eyes, ignoring Kon while doing an obnoxious impression of him. Kon isn't sure how to handle the situation because, when Tim signs to Jon again, the kid has the decency to look a little ashamed of his actions and, once more, Kon feels so much like an intruder. This is his_ best friend_ and _son_, yet he can't seem to find a place to fit in beside them. A chasm opens between him and Tim, one even Kon isn't sure he can bridge.

Tim disappears to the front of the house and, when he doesn't immediately return, Kon moves to follow. He glances at Jon and stops, unsure if he should leave the kid alone or not. He feels more like an impromptu babysitter than a father and, when Jon looks over to him, he nearly wants to cry himself. So, Kon turns his back on Jon and follows after Tim because Tim is at least a little more familiar.

When he comes round the corner, he stops.

There's a man, one hand delicately placed against the hollow of Tim s back, and he's towering over Tim. He's got a smile that makes Kon feel as if he's eaten too many sweets and the man just _reeks_ of cool comfort as he leans forward and lays a chaste kiss to Tim's cheek. Kon wants Tim to push him away and stomp off in outrage but, instead; he leans forward and embraces the guy, arms tight and grip strong. When the two pull apart, Kon doesn't miss the kiss the guy tries to steal away from Tim.

"Hey!" Kon near yells, because that is his Tim the guy is fucking with. "Get the hell away from him, you freak!"

The guy looks his way and snorts, hands never leaving Tim. When he speaks, it's difficult to understand because of his heavy accent, but Kon can understand enough of it to be _pissed_.

"You are the one who is a freak!" and the guy has the audacity to laugh. Kon's fists clench and he can't help but wonder what the guy would say if he knew Kon was a super. "Look around you. You do not fit, see?"

Kon _can_ see.

Somehow, Tim and Jon manage to blend into the village. They've assimilated in all the ways that truly matter. Kon's just some pale foreigner blowing into town and stirring up trouble. He feels more like a bandit than any kind of hero, because he feels as if he's robbing the village of it's serenity. Kon doesn't fit in and he damn well knows it. The realization makes him feel empty again and he can only turn away and go back into the house.

Tim grunts from behind him and he _knows_ it must have been difficult to manage the noise, but he doesn't bother to turn around. He'd rather not see Tim wrapped in another man's arms and he tries to tell himself it's because they're both guys. Kon isn't sure if he believes that himself, but it allows him to continue, to go methodically through the morning while milling about the house and checking out the window to assure himself that Jon was still safe.

He isn't sure what he's feeling, but he hates it all the same.

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><p><strong>AN: Character use has been fixed. After re-reading this, I am kinda meh towards it. How neutral!**


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5:

The hand in Kon's feels alien, if only because it's so _small_. Whatever misgivings he has, he's at least grateful Tim didn't leave Jon to rot in a tube or, worse, terminated the experiment. Except he can't really think on all that because Jon is pulling him towards a busted up RV and Tim is already seated in the driver's seat. Apparently, they're going on a trip. Jon is so excited, Kon can only smile, even if the gesture makes him ache.

"You're gonna love this," Jon gushes, shoving Kon into the backseat. "Daddy and I do this every month, just 'cause. And you're here now, so we have to bring you."

The comment came as a casual remark, a candid observation, but Kon winced. They _had_ to bring him because he's dead weight that can't be shrugged off. An inconvenience at best for them, but he can't just _leave_. There's something in Africa keeping him rooted. Whether that was Tim or Jon or just the simplicity, he still hadn't figured out. He didn't really want to.

Tim and Jon are all buckled in so Kon humors them and does the same, though he feels jerky and awkward. Tim doesn't seem any more comfortable with the arrangement but Jon remains oblivious to it all. He's bouncing in his seat as Tim pulls away from the house and out of the village. When they get onto the dirt road, he doesn't need to bounce any more. The road's disrepair did it for Jon.

They must have traveled for hours. Kon's butt went numb half way across a flooded roadway but Tim and Jon seem unaffected by the rough treatment. Even the RV chugs along with spirited determination and practiced ease. Once more, Kon can only feel out of place. He doesn't fit and, the more he stares at the back of Tim's head, he can't seem to imagine _ever_ fitting in.

The realization just makes him deflate and sink lower in his seat.

Hours passed before Kon dragged himself from his own melancholy thoughts. The RV slowed, taking some nasty pot holes carefully, before coming to a loud end and sputtering out. Neither Tim nor Jon seemed concerned with the rather mangled sounds their ride emitted before falling entirely silent.

There it was again. Tim and Jon.

Kon feels too cold to be anything but the living dead. Standing, he follows Tim and Jon in escaping the cramped and worn quarters of the backseat. The baby blue and soft white of the sky has been whisked away and replaced with a raging tumult storm system rolling in. He can smell rain, even if the scent of fresh brush nearly masks all else. The world goes gray as the storm moves over head and Kon finally feels like he belongs, if only a little.

Tim waves off Jon and looks back at Kon, face blank. He hates that look and can only scowl in return. There's enough decency still in Tim for him to lower his gaze in a guilty, sullen stare down with the forest floor. Jon's tugging on the hem of Tim's shirt and chattering so quickly, Kon can't even begin to piece together a coherent sentence. Something softens in Tim's face and it makes Kon nearly melt. Jon brings out the vulnerability and tenderness in Tim, something Kon never truly achieved.

Eventually, Tim shoots Jon an exasperated grin before turning him around and pushing him off towards a river about a block from their spot. He took off, tripping over himself in his haste, to reach the river. Kon could have watched Jon for hours. The enthusiasm he put into the world made Kon feel old, battered, and weak. Rolling his shoulders, he could hear the joints creak and couldn't help but grimace.

When he _finally_ looks away from Jon, Tim is standing before him, silent and sporting a poker face not even Batman could conquer. A shiver rips itself up Kon's spine but he represses the urge to let it show. Instead, he allows Tim's hand to hover over his arm before watching it slowly drop back down. When Tim turns, Kon goes to follow.

The rain is hammering down when Tim and Kon find a place beneath an overgrown vine leaf. The forest floor is soggy and soaks through the bottoms of Kon's jeans, mixing stale water, mud, and decaying underbrush. He can smell rot and ammonia rising from the ground and he feels sick because Tim is sitting next to him,_ touching_ him from ankle to hip, and hugging his legs so close to his chest, Kon can't summon up any anger.

Silently, they sit together and watch Jon play in the rain. He's splashing around in the water and slipping and sliding and laughing so hard, Kon isn't sure if his face is turning purple or there s just that much mud on him. Kon can see himself with Jon, living with him and being a real father. He would smile proudly and spoil Jon, being the father he never truly had.

Except all that is in Kon's head and reality is much crueler than the perfection of his idealistic thoughts.

Picking up a stick, Tim wrote out _Are you angry with me?_ in the mud. His message was washed away seconds later by a newly forming mini river twisting between their feet. Kon isn't sure if he wants to play dumb or not. He's not excited to talk to Tim.

Kon shrugs anyway and stares off, past Jon and past the mountains, to a place where he _doesn't_ feel like shit. "No," he says after a moment of contemplation, "well, maybe yes. Yeah."

Tim just nods, even though Kon's response makes little sense. He picks his stick back up and writes out another message. Both Kon and Tim watch the letters form and the message take shape rather than looking at one another. Tim writes out a short note, one that steals Kon's breath and leaves him feeling light headed and weak because everything gets _real_.

_He's ten._

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><p><strong>AN: Character use has been fixed. After re-reading through this part, I sorta like it. Holla.**_  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6:

On rainy days, when Jon could find nothing better to do and Tim toiled away at the clinic in Kamina, he taught Kon sign language. With the wet season upon them, Kon found himself sitting opposite Jon at the kitchen table more often than not. Each time, when the rain would begin and the storms raged, Jon would grab up one of the battered chairs and drag it to the table before pulling free the textbook and toddling back over to begin the lesson.

Kon mostly stayed silent. He didn't know what to say to Jon, honestly. Estranged did not adequately encompass their relationship. He felt more like an awkward stand in babysitter than a father.

"Hey!" Jon shouted, waving a hand before Kon's face. "Hey, are you even listening Mr. Kent?"

_Mr. Kent._

So jarred by the title, Kon literally recoiled and stared unseeingly towards Jon, mouth slack and fingers pressing dangerously hard into the worn wood of the kitchen chair. Jon returned the gaze, head tilted and body slack. Kon could see the confusion and childlike innocence swimming in the shimmering depths of crystalline blue. The realization hit hard and his gaze hardened.

Jon stayed silent before sheepishly looking down at the table and demurely folding his hands in his lap, "I'm sorry. I know you're my other dad and all, but it's just -"

"Weird," Kon finished, tone flat though rage bubbled just beneath the stoicism.

He got a nod in response.

For a moment longer, he stewed in his silent rage before catching the truly regretful darkening of Jon's eyes. The brightness dimmed and the rage dissipated. He couldn't do that to Jon, couldn't expect any more than he was handed. Asking so much of someone so young was not something Kon could do. He wanted Jon to _grow_, to experience childhood and actually _develop_. Kon wanted for Jon what he had never received.

"So," he begins cautiously, tone soft and body limp, "like this?"

He raised his hands to his lips, palms in, and slowly lowered them down. The movement felt more silly than it had any right to. All Kon could associate with the gesture were obnoxious air kisses and dramatic thank you speeches. Jon watched though, and brightened immediately. His head bobbed enthusiastically and Kon could feel the joy radiating once more. Warmth filled his belly like aged wine and he felt drunk on the feeling.

"Yeah, you totally got it!" Jon gushed. "Daddy will be _really_ pleased."

"Why?"

Kon startled Jon this time. The child looked frightened for a moment before he shuffled back in his seat guiltily. Jon mumbled beneath his breath with arms crossed over his chest and head low. Were Kon not a super, he would have entirely missed it. He really wished he had.

"Well, ya know. Daddy asked me to teach you some stuff. And. Yeah. Ya know."

In that moment, all joy bled from Kon. He'd come to relate their lessons as bonding time where he could learn more about his son. When Jon first approached him with the idea, he'd been over the moon. He'd thought Jon _wanted_ to spend time with him, to devote a few hours to just sitting with Kon in the quiet of their village home. Just when he felt as if he belonged, if only a tiny bit, Kon found the world shifting around him and the floor dropping out from below.

Kon's mouth is dry and he's furious, but not enough to yell at Jon. He wants to find Tim and ream his ass out but he doubts the locals would take very well to seeing him soaring through the skies towards Kamina. He isn't sure _what_ they know here in the heart of Africa, where vines wring the life from trees and the young become feasts for those stronger. He'd really rather not chance it, not with Jon's safety on the line.

Instead, he balled his fists and made his way to the guest bedroom. He left Jon at the table and couldn't find it within himself to look back or comfort Jon. After all, strangers don't offer comfort to other strangers. Jon didn't bother to follow. Kon could hear the flutter of pages drift from the kitchen and he felt empty and lost. Numbness set in and he sat beside the window, gazing at the torrents beating upon their sleepy little village.

Rainstorms in Africa were suspiciously similar to the storms back at the Kents and he found himself missing the comfort of home from years ago. Now the Kents house sat lifelessly on a barren plot of land far from town. Both Ma and Pa had succumbed to pneumonia four years back and Kon hadn't set foot on the farm since. He couldn't bear to visit their graves beside the cellar doors.

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><p><strong>AN: Character use fixed. And what the hell is with me and the random, paragraph long tense shifts? Seriously, just, what.**


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7:

Weeks passed and Kon remained silent. With unkind words filling his head, he declined to say anything at all. Since that rainy night, Tim had steered clear of Kon and kept his hands mostly still. Even with Jon's youthful exuberance and pension for play, their home fell victim to quiet accusations and mute fury. Tension coiled with the air and invaded their lungs, making each occupant uncomfortable.

Yet, Kon could not yet find the will to break the silence, instead allowing himself to drown in his own sorrows rather than dragging Tim and Jon with him. Nobility demanded it.

Kon lost sight of his goal in those days, often finding himself staring out the mud splattered window and gazing out to a world he did not belong in. As the days passed, he found himself second guessing his decision. While the passing of time had skipped over Tim, leaving him virtually unchanged from their years of close companionship, Kon could feel it weighing upon him.

He could smell rain coming, a pervading scent that filled his senses and brought forth unpleasant recollections. The rain never bore good tidings for Kon.

Resting his head in his hands and staring out the window, Kon started when he heard the door slam. Wild eyes looked to the door while his body clenched and coiled, ready for a fight if need be. Jon stood silently in the doorway while the yelling began. Looking haggard and older than his years, face ashen and gaze downcast, Tim slipped over to Jon and led him to his bedroom.

"You piece of fucking shit!" Kon heard, though the words were horridly distorted by a too thick accent. He recognized the voice and his blood boiled.

Tim reentered, absent Jon, with a towel draped over his head. Without sparing Kon so much as a glance, he shut all the curtains, completely shielding them from outside forces. The door shook as someone pounded on it, screaming obscenities and nonsense. Kon could hardly make heads or tails of the one sided argument, but he'd heard enough.

Frustration and hopelessness bled from Tim. His shoulders sagged down, weighed down by all things unsaid and unresolved. Before his eyes, Tim unraveled. He plopped into the arm chair across from Kon and let his head fall between his legs. The sodden locks of Tim's hair dangled in clumps, matted with mud and what Kon could only guess was blood.

Enough was enough.

Kon stood abruptly, scaring Tim from his silent mourning. His mouth worked soundlessly, flapping open and close again and again. Kon never had been any good at reading lips, though he did his best to try. Words refused to coincide with Tim's lips and Kon found himself near desperation.

He pushed past Tim, knocking him into the wall, before ripping open the door. Metal shards and chips of wood sprayed the doorway. Standing in the entry way, door half shattered and rain beginning to fall, Kon stared down at the man he'd seen holding Tim, touching Tim, _screaming_ at Tim.

Calling Tim a _whore_.

Kon saw red.

He grabbed the man's throat and _squeezed_. Frantic hands beat at his arms and back. Faintly, Kon recognized them as the calloused and work hardened hands of Tim, but he ignored the annoyance and lifted the man up. He struggled valiantly, wriggling like a trapped insect and scrambling to loosen Kon's hold. He held firm. When the man began to gasp, he could hear Tim squeak.

Almost casually, he looked over his shoulder to Tim, watching him utter grunts and squeals, grimacing each time. Anger receded and left him weary once more. He let the man drop, watched him rub at his throat and curse in a language Kon didn't understand. Stoically, Kon stood watch till the man had run off into the storming afternoon.

The victory felt empty, though Tim had fallen silent once more.

When Kon shut the door, as best he could, and turned round, he found Tim in yet the same position. This time, he rocked in the chair and curled in on himself further. Something long dead broke within Kon, reigniting the burning desire to comfort someone he held so dear.

Apologies would do no good, not after he _assaulted_ who could have very well been Tim's friend or even lover. The thought made Kon shudder and repulsion washed over him, choking him and barreling through his chest. He nearly gagged.

Carefully, he floated to the kitchen as to not make an unnecessary noises. Just as gently, Kon scooped up one of the cheap plastic cups in the cabinet and set to work on making hot chocolate, even if he had little to work with.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Character use is fixed. And what the hell, was I drunk while writing this? Idgi.**


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8:

For days, Tim sat by the window, staring out with keen eyes. The rain refused to relent and how Tim could see, Kon would never know. Each time he sought a glance of the outside world, he met only a slate gray sheet of torrid rain washing away mud, brush, and even the occasional farm animal. Kon couldn't help but let out a weak chuckle as another chicken floated by, clucking and flapping.

Tim's hand wrung restlessly in his lap, his fingers red and raw from the continued action.

Floating as to not disturb the eerie silence between them, Kon went to Tim's side and gently pried his hands apart. Startled, Tim's head snapped to the side. The bones of his neck cracked and creaked, unused to movement after such a long lull in activity. Vulnerability bled from Tim's eyes, ran red down the sharp lines of his cheeks, and splashed against the clammy skin of Kon's hands. He could feel the poison seeping in, dragging him down and down and down till he sat at Tim's feet like a loyal _dog_.

His pride bellowed in outrage, but, with Tim so upset and the world in such a disarray, he couldn't help but offer himself if only to see Tim smile, smirk, even_ scowl_. Just something besides the lonely quiet. Besides the pattering of rain, the shuffle of feet across the floor, and the wails of sorrow ringing throughout the halls.

What had been vulnerability twisted into something ugly and angry. He grabbed Kon's shoulder roughly and squeezed. His nails dug into the flesh just below Kon's cotton shirt. He yanked Kon up, more a haphazard upward pull that Kon awkwardly followed. Tim brought him up from his knees to a crouch. The hand upon his shoulder slipped to his knee and Tim pressed Kon to stand fully.

'Tim had always been the subtle one, something Kon never could grasp. The implications in Tim's actions teased him, general assumptions making no real connections, leaving him bewildered. Tim flashed a coy grin, more an upturning of the corners of his lips, but a grin all the same. Kon melted, swayed, took Tim's hand in his. Warmth melded them together, infused their palms, and brought a sudden heat to Kon's belly.

He shifted uncomfortably away from Tim, allowing their hands to fall away and the comforting warmth to dissipate. The moment lost, Kon shuffled into the kitchen and left Tim to sit by the window, staring out near listlessly again. Kon could see the glaze shielding Tim from truly comprehending what he could make out through the storm.

Taking down a plastic mug, he pulled the tab of the purifier and let the water pour down into his glass. Letting his head fall back, he downed the glass till the sickening crack of broken wood hammered in his skull. The hairs on his neck stood on end, ire and dread burning the back of his throat. He let the glass fall, uncaring, and raced to the living room. Jon screamed from the direction of his bedroom.

Tim, eyes blazing with a merciless fire, allowed two men, near twice his size, to pin his arms and lay a knife across his throat. Two others, carrying a hog tied Jon, came out from the hall and stood back. Four others stared at Kon, the pits of their eyes black as night, bottomless and dark. Scars, new and old, littered their bare flesh.

Kon sprung, jaw clenched tight and fists already balled, he jabbed one of the lug heads in the solar plexus, quickly following it up with an upper cut. Satisfaction curled his toes and forced him to release a guttural purr. Spinning on his heel to lay out another grunt, Kon lost his balance.

Sickness overtook all else and he could only curl in on himself. Pins and needles, stakes and shanks poked and prodded him, made him squirm and grind his teeth. He wanted to vomit, to scream, to thrash, anything to lift the sudden powerlessness he found himself in. Though weak, Kon lifted his head, only to spy the creep he'd hassled, the creep who had _deserved_ to be hassled.

The man wore a blood curdling smile. The edges crinkled the skin round his eyes, over shadowing the brown of the iris and leaving only an endless abyss to stare into. Malice and vengeance radiated from him as he stared smugly down at Kon, rifle and a chunk of kryptonite in hand.

"You fucker," Kon grunted, spitting on the man's boot.

In return, Kon received a sharp kick to the head and Jon's cries of innocent anger and maturing rage. Jon thrashed wildly till one of the grunts smashed the butt of his gun to the boy's head, effectively knocking him out. Tim flew into a fury after that, limbs swinging and striking wildly. The men yelled, the words mashing together into a long string of noise Kon couldn't understand.

He watched helplessly as the man approached Tim, as he took Tim's chin and tilted his head up. He purred, "Timothy, you are not wise. No one leave Coa. Coa leave them. And no one ever hurt Coa, because Coa _will_ hurt them."

Coa threw a pointed glare towards Kon before spitting in Tim's face. He squeezed Tim's jaw hard enough to bruise before turning around. His attention went to Kon, his hand raised and another grunt beat Tim with the butt of his pistol. Two others joined in till Tim's quiet whimpers ceased and his body fell limply to the floor.

Kon's jaw ached and his body felt heavier than lead as he tried to pick himself up. His arms shook and legs buckled. He tried again and again while Coa and his men laughed, Tim and Jon's bodies slung carelessly over their shoulders. Sweat poured and yet Kon fought.

Coa stood over him, still holding the rock and gun, with a vile grin before kicking Kon's head. And then again, and again, till the others aided in the beating. Kon could only see red, only feel the pain on a purely superficial level, while he caged his psyche and sealed his anger away for another time. His thoughts turned homicidal when his body gave up.

His lids slipped shut and the pain ceased, leaving him blank and near serene.

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><p><strong>AN: Character use fixed. After re-reading this, dfklsjretklewj.**


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9:

Uselessness Kon could never get used to. Helplessness he couldn't _stand,_ but with a damp chill creeping under the tatters of his clothes and a chunk of kryptonite burning brightly in the corner of his dirt prison, Kon could do little but grind his teeth and pull weakly at the bonds restraining him. He longed to hear Jon's laugh, Tim's oddly endearing grunts, _anything_. Something, even a scream, would have eased the weight pressing upon his chest. Guilt and hatred burned a hole through his gut, eating away at him till he felt he'd go mad.

Time bled together into a horrendous, endless anxiety Kon could not shake. Responsibility weighed on his shoulders, pushing his body down till he lay in a puddle of leaking ground water and his own piss. The stench of sodden dirt and ammonia made the bile rise in his throat. He swallowed, once, twice, but the bitter taste on his tongue refused to depart.

Feet thumped just outside the loose board of his cell door. Too heavy and clumsy to be Jon or Tim. His heart still leaped with each cushioned thump, though the continuous disappointment pulled him further into despair. A depression, more bleak than any he had overcome before, ate away at his hope, at his joy and love. Kon unraveled, there in that stinking hole, he allowed himself to fall further and further till listless eyes stared unseeingly towards the Heavens. If he'd been religious, he would have prayed, but he doubted even a God could correct his grievous errors.

Sleep came unexpectedly and, with it, a blissful nothingness Kon could not keep himself from enjoying. His dreams ran red with the dead bodies of his loved ones, with the steady decay of his sanity and the weak beat of his weeping heart. The serenity of sleep would not come to him and he tossed and twisted, confined and caged like an animal.

Calloused hands yanked him from his slumber. Groggily, Kon pried his eyes open and blinked against the light. Head heavy and thoughts fuzzy, Kon limped as best he could with his captors. They snickered, spat at him, jabbed the butts of rifles into his back and sides.

An anger more potent than petty rage filled him till his body ached. Each throb of his racing heart brought new found energy, allowing him to once more hope, to wish and dream and make believe that he hadn't doomed his rickety, new born family.

Yet, even with the fleeting strength, he couldn't find the will to stand.

Eyes downcast, he fell to his knees. Unfamiliar voices urged him in a foreign tongue to get up, keep going. He did, if only to keep his mind occupied with the heady task of moving forward.

At last, the hands gripping him released and he fell once more to his knees, lungs burning and chest heaving. Tiredly, he raised his head and looked out with unsteady eyes. Coa stood before him, imposing and nearly regal in his beaten and dirty uniform. Just behind him, obviously beaten and tortured, Tim sat, tied to a chair like a common dog and lying on the tatters of what had once been a sheet. His body curled in on itself, shaking violently.

Coa began to laugh and Kon didn't get the joke till he tasted salt on the edge of his chapped lip. Tears ran unchecked down the lines of his jaw and the world blurred. He wanted to vomit and scream and thrash, but they'd brought the kryptonite along and he could do little but mewl like a distressed new borne. The rest of Coa's men joined together in uproarious laughter, some even clutching at their stomachs.

Kon could find no hilarity in the situation.

"Tim," he whispered brokenly, throat raw. "Tim."

Everyone ignored him, even Tim, and Kon's stomach dropped.

"Tim," he breathed. "Tim, Tim, Tim."

With each quite murmur, Kon's strength returned, his spirit renewed. So, he went on and on, repeating Tim's name like a holy mantra till he could support himself, till he could rise on shaking legs and stare defiantly at the lump of filth and resignation Tim made.

"Tim."

The quaking stopped and Tim's body went still. Hope aided Kon as he straightened and stood tall, nearly towering over Coa and his men. His jaw set in a stubborn line as he barked out, "Tim!"

From his spot on the floor, Tim jerked and fell still once more.

"You _dog_," Coa retorted, inserting himself into the one sided monologue. He aimed a kick to the back of Kon's knees and brought him down again before beating the butt of his rifle into Kon's temple. "Timothy does not care for you. We have talked and he now agrees with me. You should have stayed in America."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Character use fixed. And after re-reading this part, I rather enjoy it.**


	10. Chapter 10

Part 10:

"Take him away!"

Coa's men seized his arms once more and hoisted Kon up. They yanked and pulled till Kon relented and allowed them to cart him away. He braved a fleeting glance over his shoulder. Tim's deadened eyes stared back, a glossed over, hollow stare reserved only for those who had forfeited all that they love. Something in Kon's gut twisted painfully.

Forcing the sickness down, he viciously spat, "You're not the Tim I remember."

Silence rang in his ears, deafening in its intensity.

The men threw him back into his prison of mud and filth, no doubt leaving him to rot. Weariness ate away at his resolve till he drifted off into another restless sleep, only to roused by a constant shaking along his side. Groggy and still caught up in the morbid thrill of his dreams, Kon's hands struck out of their own accord, battering into the annoyance with blind, gentle strikes.

The shaking persisted till Kon was forced out of his half slumber. In the bleary dark, he could make out the body stooped over his own, bent nearly in half and head twisting back and forth. A hand found its way to his arm. The chill of cool fingers against his feverish flesh jolted awareness into his consciousness.

The shadowed figure raised a finger to his lips and Kon complied. Jerkily, he moved to sit up only to be aided by his rescuer. Accepting the help, he leaned against the wall and watched with keen eyes as the welcome intruder slunk to the far corner of the room and pushed the chunk of kryptonite deep into the soil of the wall. A weight lifted from Kon's chest, allowing him to draw in a gust of air so purifying his hands shook with quiet joy.

Standing beside the ramshackle door, the stranger bid Kon to follow with a crooked finger. Clumsily, Kon climbed to his feet and staggered to the door, careful to keep his breathing low and steps light. He pulled the door open and lay the wooden plank against the wall. A film of far off light illuminated the tunnel, allowing Kon to identify his savior.

He expected an old friend, a comrade, one from the caped community who'd gotten wind of his capture, not Tim, standing tall with shoulders squared. Clothes dirtied by his own blood and the evidence of his imprisonment, hands curled so tightly rivulets of fresh blood wove through his fingers, and brows drawn together in pure, righteous indignation and rage, Tim stood as any proud man would, as any _Bat_ would.

Kon swallowed past the lump in his throat and averted his gaze.

Tim did the same, turning his attention instead to moving from Kon's shabby cell into the poorly lit underground corridors of Coa's guerrilla compound. With deft signals, they maneuvered through the halls. Each time Kon stumbled, Tim continued on, leaving him to collect himself and carry on without assistance. The passive pay back felt more comforting than anything Tim had done yet.

A grin wormed its way onto Kon's face, stretching the skin and pulling at long unused muscles. He could have laughed had his chest not felt tight.

Once more, Tim put a finger to his lips and flattened against the wall. Kon followed suit, hiding his bulk as best he could. Tim had always been the sneaky one, built for stealth and agility, so unlike Kon's brutish style.

Several soldiers patrolled the hall just ahead, rifles at ready in the crook of their shoulders. Back and forth, again and again, they circled with scowls carved into the hard flesh of their faces. Instinctively, Kon flexed. Tim only cocked a brow and directed his patent _Tim look_ on Kon. A fluttering began in Kon's chest, more a blossoming warmth, which he could place no name to.

With more pressing matters at hand, he put his tirade of emotions aside in favor of concentrating on the task at hand. He could only guess that behind the door lay Jon, locked in his own cell and guarded heavily.

Tim's hand waved through the air and, for once, Kon could piece together the message. In his own haphazard manner, Kon signed an affirmative and received a true, though small, grin from Tim.

Intelligent thought fled once more, leaving Kon feeling like a buffoon with a high school crush.

He couldn't deny enjoying the feeling, if only to grasp onto something more than hopeless cynicism.

Again, Tim signed to Kon, making sure to move his hands in sharp, precise movements to fully convey his message. Kon nodded in answer, grinning like a goof and _enjoying_ it, despite the bleak circumstances. He readied himself to face off with two of the guards, strength returned but not replenished. Fear burned a nagging hole in his belly, more for Tim than himself.

Before they rounded the corner, hands up and ready for a fight, the door to Jon's cell splintered, spraying the guards and lodging a shard of wood into one of the guard's eye. He clutched at the wound and pulled at it but a froth of blood poured from his mouth before he fell over dead. Tim moved swiftly, popping out from behind the wall and snatching up the rifle.

With nothing less than murderous rage, Tim emptied the cartridge and swung at the men with the heavy, metal butt of the rifle. In a flare of ironic justice, Tim beat both guards upside the back of their heads and watched with less than apathy as they fell limply into the dirt.

A weak mewl sounded from deep within the cell and, with Kon lagging behind in bewildered awe, Tim sprang up and into the cell. He swept Jon into his arms, crushing the boy to his chest, and wept silently. In return, Jon clung back, knuckles white and face pinched as he cried as well. Feeling like an outsider once more, Kon hung back in the entry way, watching for reinforcements and ready for a fight.

So high strung, when Tim laid a hand on Kon's arm, he twisted and raised his arm to strike. He blinked dumbly, staring down at Tim and Jon, at their easy physical comfort and silent reassurances. Tim's hand wove through Jon's dark locks, freeing the strands from clumps of mud and smoothing back the wayward fly aways.

Tim hoisted Jon higher on his hip, securing his hold and shushing Jon's keening whimpers. Freeing an arm, Tim yanked the torn sleeve of Kon's shirt, putting enough force behind the gesture that Kon stumbled into Jon, arms reflexively moving around Tim's lower back to secure himself.

The pervading chill all around them could no longer touch Kon, touch Tim or Jon, because he felt _at home_, arms encircling Tim and Jon securely tucked between them.

Like _home_, one he could solely call his own.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: As a side note, since a couple people have asked me, no, Tim can't _really_ talk. Yes, he said Jon's name, but that was an isolated, emotionally charged moment. Notice how he's been signing since then. Just to clear that up. It makes sense in my head, damn it. Oh yeah, I really need to stop forgetting my account here even exists. There's, oh, about a bazillion things I still need to upload.  
><strong>


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